


Spoil The Child

by SinnamonSpider



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:24:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10224299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: Sam's attitude is getting out of hand again. It's up to Dean to fix that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is nothing new under the sun, but who doesn't like a good spanking? 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply. Feedback is always appreciated.

Sam's attitude is getting out of hand again.

Dad won't say anything. Hasn't for a while. When Sam spits fire, Dad just lets his face turn to stone and removes himself from the situation. Dean has a terrible feeling that if Dad lets himself go off on his younger son, he won't be able to stop, and Dean will have to step in.

And in a choice between his father and his brother...well, it's not even a choice. Dean knows this like he knows his own name.

So does Dad.

So he doesn't step up to the plate. He'll shoot a look at Dean as he leaves the motel room or the diner or the Impala, leaves Dean to deal with Sam. And Dean will turn blistering words on Sam, call him out on his bullshit. He'll get into his space, invade his bubble. Intimidate him physically, just a little bit - both of them know he won't actually do anything more than yell. Sam will grit his teeth and stand his ground for a minute or two, before he goes limp and turns his face away, bares his throat, submitting without knowing he's doing it. Dean will stay close, but soften his body, until Sam's fists unclench and his shoulders drop, and then Dean will bump his hip against Sam's, or brush a fleeting hand over Sam's chin, the tiny touch conveying forgiveness. They'll come down from the adrenaline rush together, sometimes close and sometimes on opposite sides of the space.

But Sam is sixteen and moody as fuck, and seems to delight in pushing his limits a little further every day.

This time, they’ve been trapped in the motel room. No progress on the case Dad is working on and they seem to have misplaced Sam’s transcripts, so there’s no chance of getting him into school at the moment. Three days of the three of them rattling around the room is getting to all of them, but none more than Sam.

When he starts in on Dad, Dean readies for the fight. Dad just backs away, like always, visibly controlling himself to step away from his younger son. He grabs the car keys from the tiny table in the kitchenette, slams the door on his way out. Dean knows he won’t be back for hours.

Sam throws the TV remote at the door and it pops apart, the batteries springing out and rolling across the floor. “Fucking typical,” Sam snarls, hands balled in fists. “Why does he always leave? Why can’t he finish a fucking conversation?”

Dean steps in front of Sam, shutters his eyes, sets his jaw, tilts his head back just a fraction. His blank slate face. No emotion, nothing slipping through. Usually, it's enough to bring Sam up short. But not today.

"Don't give me that fucking face," Sam snaps. "Your stupid soldier face. Dad's not here, Dean. You're not impressing anyone." He sneers, lips twisting, enough emotion for the both of them combined.

Dean moves forward, backing Sam up, crowds him against the wall, like he always does. Sam is getting stupid tall, he doesn't need to look up to look Dean in the eye anymore. But Dean is still broader, heavier, thicker, and he can still take Sam nine times of out ten when they spar. Still, when those hate-filled hazel eyes meet his, on his own level, Dean pauses for a split-second. Sam sees the hesitation and goes to throw a punch.

Dean strikes like a cobra. He catches the hook Sam was only beginning to throw, snaps his hand around Sam's wrist like a vise, uses the power of the swing against him. Dean pulls Sam around even as he steps back to sit on the couch, dragging Sam along with him, off-balance. Sam is thrown over his legs, and Dean quickly pins him down, left leg coming up to clench across Sam's upper back. Sam struggles violently, but he's out of his weight class. He twists his head around to glare at Dean from under the messy spill of his hair. "Let me go, you fucking asshole!"

Dean gazes down at him. "Don't think so," he offers. "You're getting a bit big for your britches, Sammy-boy." He moves before he even knows what he's going to do, wriggling a hand into the space where Sam's slim hips are pinned against his thigh and going for Sam's belt. His fingers find the buckle and flip it open. “Think just ‘cause you’re gettin’ taller, gettin’ older, gettin’ a real smart mouth, that you’re a man. But you’re a child, Sam.”

Sam twists in his grasp, but Dean presses down tighter with the leg thrown over Sam's ribs. "You wanna behave like a child, you're gonna get treated like a child." He pulls the belt free, sliding it out of the loops of Sam's jeans, and he sees a flash of fear in hazel eyes.

"The fuck are you gonna do?" Sam demands, voice rising in trepidation, but his expression is still clouded with rage. Dean drops the belt onto the floor and reaches back in between them, deft fingers undoing Sam's fly. He tugs mercilessly at the jeans, yanking them down to Sam's brown thighs, ignoring the way his brother is fighting to get free. "Are you crazy?" Sam gasps out as Dean's hand catches the waistband of his boxers.

"No, but you are if you think I'm gonna let you keep talking to Dad and me like you’ve been doing," Dean says conversationally, as though he isn't dragging Sam's boxers down to meet his jeans, exposing Sam's skinny ass to the elements.

"I'll talk to you however I want! I'm not a fucking kid anymore!"

Dean's hand comes down like the hand of God, without ceremony or warning, meeting Sam's ass cheek with a deafening crack that sends fire up Dean's arm and makes Sam's whole body tense. "Dean, get the fuck off me!"

"You are a fucking kid," Dean snarls. His hand is smarting, skin already heating up from the strike. He can see the outline of his hand fading from Sam's skin. He’s angry now, all his calm evaporated, and he knows in the back of his mind that they're stepping over a line into dangerous territory. But Sam kicks his legs fiercely and Dean tightens his grip and brings his hand down again.

"Fuck!" Sam is writhing like an octopus, all gangly limbs and it's all Dean can do to keep a grip on him. His hand comes down on Sam's ass for a third time. This time, it draws a whimper from Sam's throat. He goes still, but his body is tensed and ready. Dean waits, but when Sam twists suddenly, almost slipping free, Dean tightens his leg around Sam's upper body again and lays another smack across the flaming skin.

They're both breathing hard. Sam's face is brilliantly red, half from rage and half from his partially inverted position over Dean's lap. He jerks his head to look at Dean, and there's a strange expression painted across his features. Dean raises his hand again, but before he can bring it down, Sam moves again, but the wrong way. He bucks _into_ Dean instead of away, moves with his hips instead of arms or legs. Dean narrows his eyes, trying to analyze the motion when he suddenly realizes that something hot and hard is digging into his right thigh, directly where Sam's skinny hips are pinned against his leg.

Sam's breath hitches in his throat as his eyes burn into Dean, and while they're still blazing with anger, there's an undercurrent of lust in the hazel depths. He shifts in Dean's grip yet again, but in that same wrong way, and Dean is aware that Sam is trying to rub his stiff cock against him.

Dean's hand is still raised, poised to strike, and he stares down at Sam. His little brother - thrown over his lap and grinding his dick into Dean's leg - flashes a look of challenge.

Dean's never been a man to back down.

He cracks his hand across Sam's heated flesh again, but lets his fingers linger this time, soothing over abused skin. Sam whimpers, louder this time. Tears have sprung in his eyes. His lower lip is caught in his teeth, the trapped skin flushing dark. Dean instinctively tenses his thigh muscles, inviting the forward jerk of Sam's hips. He tightens his fingers, digging into the red-hot meat of Sam's ass.

"Fuck," Sam breathes, an echo of the last word he’d spoken, but completely different. He wriggles in Dean's grip, searching for the drag of rough denim on his demanding cock.

Dean is intensely aware of his own dick, straining against his jeans, inches from Sam's ribs. He's frozen, unsure of where this will go next. His fingers are still clenched into Sam's cheek, feeling the flaming skin beneath his hand. "Sam," he manages, and his own voice surprises him, raw and rough, as though he was the one having his ass tanned and not Sam.

Sam, who jerks his hips again, seeking friction. "Again," he hisses up at Dean, flexing his muscles under Dean's fingers. Dean jumps like he's scalded, at the movement and the word and the agonized tone of need in Sam's voice. "Fuck," he mimics Sam, who whines low in his throat in reply. Before he can grind forward again, Dean has let go of his ass and brought his hand down again, the sound echoing through the room.

Sam twitches in Dean's hold like he's been electrocuted, his dick pushing painfully at Dean's leg. "Deaaan," Sam grits out, dragging the single syllable out into an agonized moan.

But this has gone too far, far further than Dean was prepared for, and suddenly it's all too much. He snatches his hand off Sam's cherry-toned ass, lifts his leg from its grip on Sam's ribs. He pulls his hands back into his own chest, curling into loose fists, and closes his eyes in an effort to still the tremors wracking his body.

It takes Sam a while to realize that he's free. He pushes off Dean's lap, coming down onto his knees at Dean's feet. Dean can feel him there, hear his harsh breathing. He doesn't open his eyes. Sam moves beside him, but he doesn't seem to be moving away. A touch on his right knee makes Dean's eyes flutter open, and the sight before his eyes snatches the breath from his chest, like when he steps outside on a freezing day.

Sam is kneeling between Dean's legs, lower half completely bare, having stripped off his jeans and boxers the rest of the way. His face is sweaty and still red and his eyes are dark, focused so intently on Dean's face. Dean drops his eyes to avoid the stare and regrets it, as he sees Sam's cock, weeping and red and at full attention, between his slightly open legs. He tries to close his eyes again, but Sam reaches out and grips his jaw, hard.

"Don't pussy out on me now," Sam growls, low and deep and full of challenge. Dean shivers at the sound. Sam lets his hand slide from Dean's face, down his chest and stomach, coming home to rest on the bulge still pushing insistently at his zipper. "You started this. Now we finish it."

Dean's blood sings in his veins in response to the provocation. He slaps his own hand over Sam's grip on his dick, beneath the imprisoning fabric of his jeans. Sam smirks, sharp edges and the same cocksure attitude that got them into this situation in the first place, and squeezes. Again, Dean explodes into motion. He surges forward, pushing Sam none too gently onto his ass on the floor. Sam hisses as his abused flesh hits the rough carpet, but he goes with the movement, falling back onto his elbows and watching Dean, predatory, from under his hair. Dean straddles Sam's ribs, knees bracketing Sam on either side, pushing his hips forward. Sam leans in to mouth at Dean's dick through his jeans, his hot breath seeping through the material. Dean sucks in a sharp breath. With a look that's more sultry than Dean would have though Sam capable of, Sam opens Dean's fly and plunges a hand in, roughly pulling Dean's straining erection out through the slit in his boxers.

Dean growls low in his throat as Sam flicks his tongue against the head of Dean's cock, through the bead of wetness hovering on the tip. He stares down at Sam, who stares right back, opening his mouth to take Dean in. There's nothing submissive in Sam's eyes, or in his mouth or tongue, moving over Dean's skin. Nothing gentle in the way Sam drags his teeth down Dean's length, pulling away with a wet smack. Nothing contrite in the hand that comes up to cradle Dean's balls, a bit rougher than Dean might like, but all it does is make him thrust into the touch. Sam is still challenging him, even with his eyes dark, pupils blown out with lust. Dean can't let that slide.

He fists a hand in Sam's hair and drags Sam's lips back to his dripping cock. Sam takes him in willingly, stretching his lips wide around Dean's girth, flattening his tongue on the underside. He pulls Dean in deeper, until Dean can feel his head touch the back of Sam's throat and where in God's name did his baby brother learn to swallow a dick like this? Dean decides he doesn't want to know. He fucks just a little into Sam's mouth, and when Sam gags slightly around him, he can't help but grin a little. "Gonna teach you to watch your mouth, Sammy, or else put it to better use." He tightens his grip on Sam's hair and slides in again.

Sam looks up at him, eyes scrunched up against the shove of Dean’s cock in his throat - unrepentant eyes, asking for it, begging to be taught. Dean growls and thrusts home again, saliva dripping down Sam’s chin as he takes everything Dean has to give him. The slide of Sam’s mouth over his flesh is insane, and it’s not long before Dean is quaking and spilling down his brother’s eager throat, hand still clenched in too-long hair, Sam’s name dragged from his lips.

He sinks down, limp, eyes closed, an unbidden voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he’s still astride Sam’s chest. Sam makes an impatient noise beneath him and Dean forces his eyes open.

That brazen look is still on Sam’s face. He pushes at Dean, slides out from underneath his body, cock still bobbing red and unsatisfied at his stomach. “You better not leave me like this,” he says harshly. Dean snorts. “It’d serve you right. Maybe make you think a bit before you speak, make you remember to respect your elders.”

“Fuck you.” Sam is on his feet, reaching for his discarded clothes. Absently, Dean wonders where his sweet, cheerful, eager-to-please baby brother had gone to. The Sam of a year ago would have ducked his head and apologized and nuzzled into Dean’s light, forgiving touch. Then again, the Sam of a year ago wouldn’t pushed things this far, would have never given Dean a reason to spank him into a raging boner and sucked Dean’s dick with so much unabashed challenge in his eyes.

Dean grabs Sam around his narrow waist, throws him bodily onto the couch and ignores the affronted squawk that slips from Sam’s shocked lips. He pushes Sam into the cushions, again utilizing his weight; he knows it won’t be longer before Sam is just as heavy as him as well as being just as tall, and God knows he better take advantage of it while he can. His left forearm presses down across Sam’s chest while his right hand closes almost viciously around Sam’s straining dick. The flash of triumph in those hazel eyes is chased away almost immediately as Dean begins a harsh, punishing rhythm on his brother’s neglected body. His hand is dry, rasping along the hot, hard line of Sam’s dick and he knows it’s probably hurting Sam a bit, judging by the grimace fighting for dominance over the lust on his face.

Just as Sam’s breath begins to hitch and his hips start to pulse out of time, Dean stills his hand, loosening his grip until Sam loses the friction he’s so desperately seeking. “You gonna fix your attitude?” he demands. Sam writhes beneath him; if looks could kill. “Fuck, Dean, just - ” Sam’s body strains upwards, but Dean is inexorable, letting his hand go completely limp. “Are you?”

“Yes!” Sam forces out. Dean curls his fingers into a fist again, picking up the discarded motion. In seconds, Sam is clutching at Dean’s thigh, tossing his head against the couch cushions, gasping. Dean stops again, drops his hand to the base of Sam’s cock, presses down to stave off his orgasm. Sam’s groan is nearly a scream and Dean grits his teeth. “You gonna watch the way you talk to Dad? To me?”

“Yes! God, Dean, please!” The defiance is gone from his face, only desperation and contrition warring across his features, and Dean knows that he’s won this round. “Please, Jesus!”

Dean tightens his grip and fists his brother, fast and dirty. Sam goes stiff beneath him, come pulsing out between Dean’s fingers, hot and wet, and the cry torn from Sam’s throat is ragged and guttural. Dean continues to pump Sam’s dick until Sam whimpers and pushes half-heartedly at his hand.

Sam is boneless on the couch and Dean relaxes onto him, wriggling his way in between Sam’s limp noodle body and the backrest. He stretches across and snags Sam’s discarded boxers, uses them to wipe his own hand and then Sam’s stomach and crotch clean. Sam makes an indeterminate noise beneath him. Dean tosses aside the soiled shorts and drops his hand onto Sam’s stomach. He noses into Sam’s neck, conveying forgiveness as usual and Sam exhales tremulously and pushes back against him.

“Least you didn’t manage to punch me,” Dean murmurs into Sam’s collarbone and he feels Sam snicker under him. “Might have been less messy,” he answers. “Probably,” Dean agrees, letting his tongue sneak out to trace Sam’s earlobe. He sighs, makes Sam’s hair flutter and feels him shiver. “You gotta stop pulling this crap, man. Wears me out.”

Sam clutches Dean, the shiver more of a tremble now. “I don’t mean to,” he says softly. “Just get so mad. I can’t, sometimes I can’t - ” he fights for the words, trying to suppress the quaver in his voice and Dean nuzzles him again, breathing in sweat and salt and Sam. “I know,” he replies. “I was a teenager too, not that long ago. But seriously, man, leave Dad out of it. You wanna get mad, hit something, get in someone’s face: come find me. I can take it.”

“Look where that got us,” Sam whispers and he twists his body, turning towards Dean, burrowing closer. Dean smiles against Sam’s skin. “Doesn’t seem so bad, from where I’m standing.”

“You’re not standing.”

“Smartass.” Dean sinks his teeth into Sam’s neck, feels him gasp more than he hears it. “Doesn’t seem like you’ve learned your lesson.”

Sam squirms against him, breath coming faster already. “Then you better try and teach me again.”


End file.
